


Shuuto for the Stars

by ficteer



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Accidental Superpower, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Cats, Humor, M/M, background Shinooka/Mizutani
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficteer/pseuds/ficteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mihashi gets a cat. Abe gets a headache. Somehow, no one gets fur in their soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shuuto for the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> yfip: sam ficteer, should be updating botws, comes up with [gestures at this fic] instead
> 
>  
> 
> so like. this was basically how it went down:
> 
> me: [spins wheel]  
> wheel: magical-realism-accidental-superpower-restaurant au  
> me: ok

It’s odd enough for Mihashi to be late to opening, but ultimately, it’s the small crowd around him that snags Abe’s attention from where he is diligently changing into his apron. 

Mihashi’s doing better, unquestionably - with the other cooks, that is; he’s making friends and having pre-shift conversations and doing all those things that Abe _doesn’t_ (well, not that he _wants_ to be burdened by ten minutes of chatter before brutal eight hour shifts of split pea soup and perfectly seasoned miso, but, y’know, if he _did)_.

“It’s so dirty,” Tajima’s frank voice carries easily to Abe’s ears, certainly not because Abe is straining to hear around the clanging of pots and pans to try and hear what has Mihashi even more popular than usual. Abe scoots just a little closer. “Where’d you find it?”

“Out back! Around the dumpster,” Mihashi answers, and Abe inexplicably thinks about that one drama Shun forced him to watch where the ex-cop found a dead body in the alley garbage and oh god, what if Mihashi was in trouble because he found a body and - Shit, his car was at his apartment complex, and would it even _fit_ a body?! Maybe he could grab some garbage bags from the supply closet before anyone else noticed?? How the hell does one even offer a car up for that kind of service without sounding like a judgmental dickbag? And - 

“ _Mew._ ”

The collective coo of three adult men fills the kitchen after the tiniest little squeak Abe has ever heard. He turns his head, finally, because dead bodies didn’t make kitten noises, and it didn’t _sound_ like Mihashi was in any kind of trouble and needing Abe to bail him out (especially not of the hey-I’ve-had-a-crush-on-you-for-like-three-months-and-would-help-you-hide-a-body levels of help) and _oh my god it’s ugly_. It’s a small cat, just about the size of Mihashi’s two hands, and it is _filthy_ and _ugly_ and maybe the cutest thing Abe has ever seen in his life, except for probably that one time he saw Mihashi smile at an especially nice-looking jello mold and had actually needed to excuse himself to the restroom to glare the stupid grin off his face in the mirror.

“You should take him home and give him a bath,” Izumi says, tilting his head. “Me ‘n Abe can cover for you for a bit.” (Why the fuck is his assistance being offered without his permission?!)

“N-No way, I couldn’t - !” Mihashi says, glancing at Izumi with a bright red face, and then to Abe, who stiffens when he realizes that he has _totally_ been caught eavesdropping. Mihashi’s face goes from pink to something closer to the red velvet cakes they were _supposed_ to be mixing for tonight’s dessert, from ears to throat, and Abe realizes that he’s going to have to do some kind of damage control. He takes a step back and has just enough time to see Mihashi’s mouth open around a bizarre, embarrassed squeak before there’s the sound of a squelch, a twist of vertigo, and then nothing.

\----------

The Pitch, having opened six point five months ago under the careful and somewhat dictatorial leadership of one Momoe Maria, has so far flourished despite its bizarre menu, utter lack of coherent decor, and somewhat questionable location by the pier where the clientele tends to be locals, not tourists. So far, it has suffered only a handful of problems, including but not limited to:

\-- the obscenely large fish tank suddenly, inexplicably, going completely devoid of fish, despite the fact that all doors and windows were locked and untampered with  
\-- exactly one (1) grease fire, caused by overly-excited tossing of shallots and leading to the cutting of an open window into the grill area that has since become a hit with the kids  
\-- a capital-i-Incident with one Hanai Azusa, which neither said employee nor Ms. Momoe will expound upon but both agree was vital and important yes indeed and seems related, interestingly enough, to the fact that Hanai blanches whenever oranges are in any way added to his dish for the night, and   
\-- the Paper Hat Fiasco of April 7, which has forever been sworn to secrecy both by Suyama and Nishihiro to the Death and involves the mysterious forces of three kid menus, a crayon pack that had two greens and no red, one order of chicken fingers (no sauce, extra fries), and a family that has been kindly asked not to return to the premises, apparently.

And now added to this list was, of course, that one time Abe Tayaka stepped back into a puddle of canola oil (God damn it, Tajima Yuuichirou, you sloppy, messy bastard), slipped, hit his head on the spice rack, took a crystal glass bottle of cinnamon to the nose, and ended up in the emergency room for three hours waiting (on Mihashi’s insistence, as he heard later) that it (his nose, that is) was not broken. His nose, not broken, did manage to hurt like a motherfucker even into the next morning, when he woke to his own apartment after getting driven home by one Tajima Yuuichirou in what was unquestionably the most death-trap of death-trap vehicles ever to shame the soil of Japan. More damaged is certainly his pride, and it takes Abe a solid twenty minutes of boiling alive into his pillow to the serenading of the low groans out of his mouth before he feels in any way ready to face the new day.

Abe manages to shower, fix himself in a somewhat decent manner (ignoring, of course, the fact that there was a huge knot on the back of his head and the fact that his nose is still red and inflamed and generally just painful looking), and heads off to work. He lives a bit further than most of the guys from the restaurant, mostly because he was one of the few who had already lived somewhere before getting a job at The Pitch and therefore didn’t arrange his apartment around the pier. It isn’t usually a hassle, but beneath the high summer sun that was hanging nicely in the late morning, Abe finds himself wondering if perhaps he should start looking for somewhere closer. Mihashi’s building is only two blocks away, though the sheer thought of living in that kind of close proximity to the blond and maybe get to know him outside of work was - well - wow it was _hot_ outside!

“Holy shit, your _face_ ,” Izumi greets as soon as Abe opens the back employee’s door to The Pitch, and Abe grimaces. “Wait, wait, do that again, that makes it even _worse!_ ” Abe isn’t sure what makes it worse, the absolute glee in Izumi’s face, or the way Tajima comes around the corner to investigate the commotion and actually howlsand has to clutch his doubled-over stomach with laughter.

“I hate you,” Abe grumbles, swatting out as Izumi reaches somewhere beneath his flour-dusted apron to fish for his phone. “If you take a picture, I swear, I’ll take that phone and feed it to you.”

_Ker-chik_. “Eat my ass, Abe.” Izumi pockets his phone and then gives a little mock-salute as he turns on his heel to head back to his station. “Oh, by the way, Mihashi was looking for you. Don’t fuck it up.”

Abe, questioning his choice in confidante for romance (not that the seven beers he’d consumed to get to the point where his alcohol-riddled mind decided he’d _needed_ one had allowed him to be too picky), nods determinedly. He’s totally fine. He’s great with people. He’s not popular, no, and he’s not really a good conversationalist, and his interests are probably more single-minded than what most people would be interested in, but, like, hey. He can talk to Mihashi like a normal guy. He is _totally_ a normal guy. He’s got this.

“He’s over by the refrigerator,” Tajima says, slapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Go get ‘im, Tiger.” _Did fucking everyone know?!_ Abe leaves the back room as soon as he’s suited up for work and sporting his one-hundred percent cotton apron (with two pockets, sewn down the middle for separation and optimal organization of apron-pocket shit). If he finds himself swallowing a little nervously and getting his hopes up that something’s about to go down, well, sue him. 

The refrigerator, around the corner and storing the produce, dairy, and occasional mid-being-pranked coworker, is the home to a local legend at The Pitch (“Sakaeguchi, we’ve been open for six months, we don’t _have_ legends.” “Oh my _god,_ Izumi, let me _live_.”). The legend, decisively Not something one Sakaeguchi Yuuto made up under the influence of shouchu on the rocks, goes something like this: that meeting your sweetheart by the door and looking into each other’s eyes in the brushed chrome means your relationship will last forever and be like, super awesome or something. Abe wasn’t really listening too hard at the time, because it wasn’t until he’d stumbled on Mihashi Ren staying hours after closing time perfecting his cake decorating out of a need to be the best and contribute to the restaurant (ignoring the fact that he was actually the best fucking baker out of all of them, but, whatever) that Abe had the _oh shit_ feeling that frankly had yet to stop. 

Mihashi is, as Tajima had reported, standing by the refrigerator. Abe does Not look into the brushed chrome of the door. He does, however, open his mouth to say something and then clam it immediately shut because that is a cat in Mihashi’s apron pocket, and _oh no_.

“Oh, Abe-kun, hi,” Mihashi greets, head coming forward just enough so that Mihashi is sort of looking up at him through pale golden lashes. “I was wondering how you were doing today, and, um, how - ”

“Holy shit, hooooly shit are you really messing this up with how long you’d practiced.” Abe’s face goes from whatever it looks like when he knows he’s having to force patience long enough for Mihashi to talk to a deep frown. He looks over Mihashi’s shoulder to see just who the hell was rude enough to interrupt the blond while talking, but not only does he _not_ see anyone else in this corner of the kitchen, but Mihashi is still going forward as if he hadn’t heard the insult at all.

“A-and, um, well, not to say that it’s my fault, really, that you slipped, because it’s not, even though I really feel like it is, but, I’m just worried, and I didn’t see you after the doctor, so - ”

“Reeeeen, ohhhh my goddddd.” Now Abe is even _more_ perplexed. No one in the restaurant calls Mihashi ‘Ren’. “The only thing stupider than how much you’re messing this up is this loaf’s face.”

“Hey!” Abe snaps, because _fuck_ you his face was perfectly fine when it wasn’t less than twenty four hours off a very minor battery injury. But the kitchen goes very quiet, and Abe suddenly realizes that Mihashi has stopped his babbling and looks pale and subdued like he hadn’t moments ago. “Uh.”

“Wait, wait, wait, holy _shit_ , can you hear me?” Abe looks from Mihashi’s face and sees a movement in the blond’s apron pocket, and just as he glances down, the cat’s face peeks out. It looks a lot better than it had yesterday, obviously the victim of a bath, and is now actually cute and not like, pitifully cute. “You _can_ , oh my _God,_ you just fucked up.”

“I’m - your cat is?” Abe says, pointing stupidly at the cat in Mihashi’s apron.

Mihashi blinks, once, then twice, then seems to jerk himself out of whatever funk Abe’s sudden interjection had put him in. “O-Oh, is that what you were - yeah, I, I brought her in, because it’s - I didn’t want to leave her alone, and, I - ! I asked Momoe-san if it was okay, so - !”

“But she doesn’t - ? You can’t - ?” Abe continues, because, well, how the hell do you ask someone if they can talk to their cat without actually using the words “Hey so just a question can you like talk to your cat because I think I can”? 

“Can’t…?” Mihashi asked, tilting his head. Abe desperately thinks of an excuse.

“You can’t leave her alone?” he asks, and Mihashi exhales softly.

“She crawled into my hoodie pocket while I was making breakfast and got cranky when I tried to take her out, so…” Mihashi starts fiddling with his fingers, and the cat snorts.

“Nah, dude, he can’t hear me. Totally sweet you can, though. Hey, can you tell this kid to like, chill out with the tuna? I don’t like how it makes my breath smell.” 

Abe is absolutely unable to come up with any kind of dignified response either to Mihashi or his talking cat, but somehow the universe has decided that it has apparently defecated on Abe Takaya enough for one day because Hanai claps his hands to pull everyone in for a pre-meal meeting, and Abe is spared having to school his face into something presentable.

\----------

In the next nine hours, Abe:

\-- makes the best pot of tomato soup in his life (from focusing all of his ‘holy fucking shit I can hear Mihashi’s cat shit-talking him on the other side of the stoves’ into cooking so he doesn’t lose it)   
\-- makes the worst pot of soup in his life (from getting flustered when Mihashi’s cat describes in full detail how Mihashi had given her a bath and then had to get in himself after getting soaking wet and whoa humans sure got red in the face in the bath and took a long time and was that normal hey Abe I’m talking to you??)  
\-- learns during a break while surrounded by Izumi, Tajima, and Oki that Mihashi’s cat’s name is, apparently, Shuuto, because of the single round black patch on her back that has little white flecks that really does make her look like a baseball  
\-- humiliates himself in front of exactly two customers on a no-longer-romantic date by tripping on his way out the door when Shuuto asks snottily if he can come spend the night with him and Mihashi so ‘this idiot will know what I’m asking for instead of trying to just feed me all the time’  
\-- realizes that it’s not just Mihashi’s cat he can now converse with, as a cat by the vending machines on his way home tells him that his nose looks much better than it did that morning even if he was kind of still tomato-faced, a second cat hanging from the balcony on the second corner whines that he’s walking too heavily and disturbing the aesthetics of the cicada chirps, and his neighbor’s Hajime-san’s cat tells him his fly is down only to snicker when Abe looks down and his zipper is exactly where it needs to be  
\-- decides that cats are, universally, assholes.

\----------

“So, let me get this straight. You slipped in the canola oil, smacked your head, took cinnamon to the face, and now you can talk to cats?”

Abe takes a long, deep swig of beer, far from his first of the night, and nods. Izumi looks about as bored and nonplussed as he does sober, but the pink on his cheekbones way gives away that they’ve been here at The Ripe Banana for about three hours now, slouching ever further over a table as they talked. He knows, somehow, that it’s an _awful_ idea to talk to Izumi about the fact that he’s getting trashtalked by the entire feline population of Saitama, but a glance down to the bottom of his glass where only hints of amber and foam remain has him forgetting why.

“You know that stereotype that cats are evil? They are. They’re all assholes. I was _pranked_ by my neighbor’s cat yesterday. Where are all the dogs in Japan when you need them?”

Izumi laughs so hard Abe wonders if he should grab a napkin for when he shoots beer out of his nose. Izumi does grab one, but it’s for the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

“So, _so_ , you’re getting _pranked_ by cats, now?! Oh my god, this was even better than that time you told me you were hot for Mihashi and were _scared_ to make a move because he was too good for you.”

Abe scowls. Mihashi is the _best._ “I was serious then, too!”

Izumi takes in a deep breath and straightens his spine so he can catch the waitress’ attention. He, too, seems unwilling to have this conversation any more sober than they are. “I’m not saying Mihashi’s not a catch, I mean, he’s the coolest dude at the restaurant for sure.” Abe taps a longing finger on his empty glass. “But I mean, it’s _Mihashi_. The only way I’d ever imagine someone being scared of him would be like, I dunno, scared he was going to flip his shit and dump a pan of cookies on you. Or make you slip in canola oil and hit your head so hard you start getting pranked by cats. That does sound like something I’d be scared of.”

“Another one, Abe-san?” the waitress asks when she approaches, and Abe wonders just what his life has become that the waitress at The Ripe Banana knows him by name. Surely he and Izumi could have found somewhere classier for their occasional Friday bro-date. He nods, then gets ready to dive into another example about how cats are actually going to ruin his life now, but a glance over to the bathrooms has him spotting the owner’s cat Buttons flicking a tail and sneering at him. For fuck’s sake.

“How about you, Kou-chan?”

“Yeah, just one, though. Shin’ll be mad if I stay out too late again.”

The waitress giggles and swats Izumi on the shoulder, but Abe just watches as Buttons rolls onto its back and exposes its asshole to Abe with unmistakable, pompous giggling. 

“I hate cats,” Abe says, spinning the cardboard coaster mournfully on the tabletop.

\----------

The worst part of this whole development is the fact that Abe is only ever safe from smack talk (cat talk? ha ha ha) while he’s in his own apartment, because there are exactly four cats between his front door and the restaurant, and the coup de grace of all cat hell torment, Shuuto herself. Except for the odd times when he’s by himself in his apartment, it’s a constant barrage of more cat culture than he’d ever wanted to know.

Shuuto is the one exception, and Abe has yet to decide if it’s better or worse that her interests lie not so much in explicitly tormenting Abe, but rather prattling on and on for hours on end about Mihashi at home. 

“Ren is the _best_ ,” she announces firmly while Abe is in the middle of preparing a full dish of french onion. “He’s finally figured out about the tuna thing, and he doesn’t bother buying that super gourmet stuff that gets all stuck in my teeth and shit, and he’s talking about getting me one of those lounge things to go on his balcony and - are you ready for this - a cat door, so I can like, go out whenever I want.”

“You’re with him all the time. What the hell do you need a cat door for?” Abe says, voice low because, well, Izumi may know that he can talk to cats, but maybe the idiot’s written it off as a drunken delusion and, well, it’s _rude_ not to respond yes and yes his mother did try her best to teach him not to be rude even if he fails miserably sometimes but he’s talking to a fucking _cat_. 

“Umm, for when I’m not with him, duhh?” Shuuto responds, flicking her tail. She’s taken to sitting on the back of the counter while Abe mixes up his soups. He’s positive this is some kind of health code violation. “You should come see his apartment, Takaya. I think that would make Ren super happy.”

Abe decides firmly that he’s not upset that Mihashi’s cat got on a first name basis with him before Mihashi did. Definitely not. “What makes you say that?”

“Because Ren is always talking about you, even when we’re in bed or when I sit on the floor while he’s in the bathtub. I’m always hearing him, ‘Abe-kun, Abe-kun~’ like he wants you there.” Shuuto rolls around on the counter top, stopping on her back and shooting him a coy glance. “One time he even had to shut me out of his room because he wanted to say it all by himself~”

Abe burns _everything_.

\----------

So, apparently, Mihashi masturbates while thinking about him. That’s fine. That’s good. That’s fucking _awesome_. 

“A-Are you okay?!” Mihashi stutters when Abe burns his thumb for the _third_ time getting the cakes out of the oven.

“I’m so great,” Abe responds tearfully.

\----------

While The Pitch is certainly not the highest-rated establishment in Saitama, nor the largest, nor the best-placed to take advantage of the bizarre-but-quantifiably-there ice-hockey-related tourist season, it is, apparently, on the map enough that Momoe comes dressed to work with an extra pinch in her suit and her hair placed in a bun that was as beautiful and elegant as it was utterly frightening to anyone who knew what it meant.

“Boys, tonight’s a big night,” she says, hands on her hips and eyes like lasers around the kitchen. “We’ve got a big client coming in with a reservation tonight at six fifteen, and if this goes well, things could really pick up for us!”

“Who is it?” Mizutani asks, and Momoe folds her arms as she mentions some name that Abe feels like he should probably know, though only Tajima makes any kind of recognizing tone. Judging from the sparkles in his eyes, though, it’s someone good. 

“He’s got money and a reservation and an appetite, and that’s all we care about!” Momoe says, clasping her hands together. “I want everyone absolutely on point. Mihashi-kun, you’re on the cakes. Suyama-kun, the appetizers better make me want to sing. Abe-kun, make the soup that would have your mother crying.” Abe swallows nervously. He’d actually done that before, in not-a-very-good way. “Nishihiro-kun, go down to the basement and start picking out our finest wines for him to taste. Two or three should be sufficient.”

With a loud clap that filled the kitchen, she leaves them all to get to their stations, save for Hanai, who stands in the center and says, “This may be a big customer, but treat it like you’d treat any other customer! Keep things tight!” 

Abe goes towards the refrigerator to grab broccoli, since tonight’s soup special is the broccoli and cheese that had been a hit so many other nights. On his way over, he runs into Mihashi, literally. Three responses resound: “Oof!” “Ack!” “Watch where you’re going!”

Ignoring Shuuto’s protests from where she’s apparently been squished between them, Abe reaches his hands out to Mihashi’s shoulders to steady him. “You okay?” he asks, because really one of them falling down and getting weird superpowers to talk to cats is one too many as it is. 

Mihashi flushes pink and nods. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” he stutters, and Abe relaxes, letting his hands drop from Mihashi’s shoulders to grip his biceps. He’d meant it to be a parting gesture, a sort of friendly ‘all right then watch where you’re going and go do good things with those cakes’, but in the flash second he gets his fingers there, Mihashi does _something_ to move his arms and, well, _shit._ Abe felt a flash of heat singe beneath his skin at the thought of _whoa Mihashi has really fucking nice arms_ burning him to redness. “A-Abe-kun?” Mihashi asked, and Abe licked his lips nervously, suddenly remembering Shuuto’s report that Mihashi masturbated thinking to him. Abe wondered what Mihashi’s biceps looked like while he was stroking himself, the muscles moving beneath smooth skin, each contraction matching a puffy exhale - _oh shit._

“Hehehe, lookin’ red there, Takaya,” Shuuto purrs from Mihashi’s pocket, and Abe glances down to glare at her only to feel Mihashi stiffen up in his grasp.

“It’s - It’s not - I’m - !” Mihashi stuttered, face going about as red as Abe’s felt, and Abe glanced back up at him because _what_ , just in time for Shuuto’s voice to cut through the thick awkwardness.

“ _Whoa_ , Ren, you can’t mate Takaya at _work_ , _gosh_ ,” she says, totally exasperated, and Abe very suddenly remembers that Mihashi couldn’t hear his cat and Abe had glared down at his pocket but it would have probably looked like Abe was glaring at his apparent erection - and - _holy fucking shit._

_“_ N-No, I mean, it’s - ” Abe clenched his jaw shut. Oh fuck, how was he supposed to open his mouth without the words “no please fuck me” coming out?! “ _Fine_ , it’s fine, it’s - I’m - It’s fine!” Oh god even to his own ears he was yelling. He was yelling about how it was okay that Mihashi’s dick was hard for him and Abe was ready to die.

“It’s… It’s fine?”

_“It’s fine!!”_  

“What’s fine?” Tajima asks, coming up. “Also I need to get into the fridge. And shouldn’t you two be cooking?”

“Takaya’s _dick_ is fine, hehehe,” Shuuto says. Abe _really_ fucking hates cats.

“We’re _fine_!” Abe snapped, and Tajima raised both hands defensively, a packet of ricotta cheese clenched in his fist.

“O _kay_ , geez, fine!”

Tajima walks off, leaving Abe, who has remembered that he’d come over here to get broccoli for his part in wooing their very important customer and is in the process of wondering if it would be the best time to ask Mihashi out on a date since it was already awkward as fuck or if it was the _worst_ time since it was already awkward as fuck; Mihashi, who is apparently battling both an erection and a nervous breakdown that Abe had not only known about said erection and thought Abe had glared at it but that was apparently okay with it even after glaring at it; and Shuuto, who if she didn’t stop laughing in the next fifteen seconds was going to be the secret ingredient in tonight’s soup special as soon as Abe googled how to skin a small animal because he is _not_ going to have fur in his soup.

A tiny voice in Abe’s head that is, thankfully, not a cat’s, says _fuck it._ “So, uh, I could - Would you be interested in going somewhere with me? Drinks, or dinner, or coffee, or,” _my apartment, specifically my bedroom_ , Abe thinks, but thankfully doesn’t say. He swallows his tongue. Mihashi burns bright red and tries on three separate tries to open his mouth and say something, but after three absolute failures, ends up just clamping his jaw shut and nodding. “Awesome. Great. I’m. Broccoli.”

Abe, who is not broccoli, goes into the refrigerator and absolutely _refuses_ to look into the metal chrome of the door.

\----------

It turns out that Sakaeguchi, on his great path of destruction, gossip, warmongering, and belligerence regarding never-ending mozzarella sticks manages to spread in no less than sixty two minutes a week’s amount of drama that night, namely  
  
\-- the Very Important Customer is in fact related to ice hockey, unsurprisingly for the season despite the what the fuck factor one would expect, which is the reason why Tajima was the only one to recognize the name since he’s the only tool in the restaurant interested in overseas sports, and is apparently on a secret summer vacation with his also-professional-ice-hockey-playing boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé if the trip goes well  
\-- Izumi and Nishihiro have apparently been fucking on the other side of the pastry cart for _weeks_ , which Abe is _shocked_ he didn’t know (and so is Izumi, interestingly enough, since apparently Izumi had been anything but subtle about it in their weekly bro-dates at the bar that he was shacking up with Nishihiro, but, well, it _is_ Abe)  
\-- Tajima and Hanai also come out, mostly because Tajima points furiously at Hanai and exclaims something to the effect of ‘see you stupid motherfucker we totally could have been banging in here and no one would have noticed oh-em-gee’  
\-- Suyama kindly points out that yes, someone had indeed noticed, which is why the conversation was even taking place, followed by Tajima sulking so much he actually knocks over a bottle of canola oil, which causes Abe to wonder if it’s okay for a grown man to cry in the middle of a restaurant  
\-- Mizutani’s mother calling him during the break and Mizutani had apparently accidentally had the phone on speaker the entire time, allowing literally everyone in the near vicinity of the front lobby (so, like, all of the customers and Sakaeguchi) to hear how the poor idiot has been whining to her for months about wanting to date ‘the pretty bartender girl you keep prattling on about’, and since Shinooka is literally the only bartender in the restaurant, now everybody knows (except, interestingly enough, Shinooka, who is apparently out with a cold and won’t be back until Tuesday)  
\-- Hanai’s loud protests that is anyone _else_ locked in romantic turmoil in the restaurant because we have _customers_ to _feed_ , and hopefully no one seeing how both Abe and Mihashi pointedly _don’t_ look at each other with bright red faces to the howling laughter Shuuto charms their silence with.

Abe does, however, secure not only Mihashi’s phone number, but also a promise to grab drinks at The Ripe Banana (Mihashi’s insistence, and Abe’s lack of ability to say no to that smile even knowing that Buttons is going to have a fucking _field_ day with this) as soon as they get off their shift the next day. Abe’s excitement is such that even when the Miyagi’s cat groans at him on his way into work the next morning (“Jesus Christ kid, who gave you that haircut, my granny’s thirty year old weed whacker?”) and Shuuto spends all day crooning at him (“Ren told me aaaallll about it last night while he was making dinner, omg, you’re going to rub all over him, aren’t you? Gasp, wait, that means you’re going to scent him, and I’m going to have to rescent him, ugh, why do these things happen to good cats?!”)

It’s only by forcing himself to focus on his work that Abe doesn’t kill a man during the dinner rush. The NHL star from yesterday had apparently tweeted a picture (“Platonic, of course, they’re not out. So sad,” Sakaeguchi had said, shaking his head sadly.) of him and his partner in the restaurant and like, a concerning number of people in appropriate jerseys had swarmed the restaurant. Abe had heard Mizutani confirm with certainly to no less than ten different groups that yes, their table was actually the one where the NHL players had taken their meal. 

The rush brings in the wildness that Abe had expected when he’d first fallen into the restaurant business, and surprisingly enough, it’s Shuuto coaching him through each tough soup rendition that gets him through the night in a good enough mood not to ruin his date with Mihashi. Not that she’s magnanimous about it, no, especially not when she finds out that Mihashi is apparently swinging by his apartment on the way to the bar to drop her off.

“Takaya, tell Ren I need to come!! He needs me! Oh my god, I’m going to _die_ if you leave me alone by myself! What if I _starve?!_ ” Shuuto pleads as Mihashi struggles to shut the door, one leg in the doorway and Shuuto doing her best to crawl up his pants. “Takaya! _Do something!!”_

“I just don’t know what her problem is!” Mihashi sighs out of exasperation. Abe locks eyes with Shuuto and smirks.

“Who knows?” he says, and with one betrayed yowl, Mihashi finally manages to get the door shut. Abe: 1, Cats, like, a lot more than that.

They get to The Ripe Banana and Abe is deliriously glad that Izumi isn’t here. He could only imagine what it would have been like, Izumi sliding in on their date with arms around their necks and turning the whole thing into some platonic bro-thing. Though, Izumi _was_ Abe’s confidante about the whole thing. Maybe he wouldn’t have done that. Well, whatever, he wasn’t even here, and Abe’s not about to waste his date doing a dental exam on that horse.

It’s two beers before he feels comfortable getting closer to Mihashi, in his personal bubble, close enough that he can feel Mihashi’s breath on his face and warmth radiating through a cotton shirt. He leans in, listening to Mihashi prattle on about having played baseball in high school and through college, and Abe chimes in occasionally, though mostly he just _listens_ , because this is so great having Mihashi talk to him like this. He wants to close his eyes and just take in the way Mihashi’s not even stuttering around him, not hanging up on any of his words, not even pausing for breaths, hardly; just the tone of his voice, the cadence of excitement and tales of dramatic pitching, all hanging beneath the sounds of the bar that were buzzing in his head beneath everything he’s ever wanted.

He doesn’t get any drunker than that, and Mihashi too only has one more, just enough so he feels comfortable sneaking even closer into Abe’s personal space, until Abe feels the tentative touch of fingers at his side, tangling gently in his shirt.

“Is… this okay?” Mihashi asks, nervously, still not stuttering but certainly not the ease of chatter he’d had for the past hour or so. Abe doesn’t have any idea what’ll come out of his mouth if he parts his lips, so he just nods, watching as Mihashi swallows and lets his shoulder dip beneath Abe’s arm. Abe stares into Mihashi’s face, watching the redness bloom high on Mihashi’s cheeks, each slow second of territory gained beneath Mihashi’s sneaking fingers getting his heart to beat ever faster in his chest. And then, just when he was sure that he was going to faint, Mihashi’s hand slithers into his back pocket, fingers wriggling into the fabric of Abe’s jeans and lingering, warm and possessive on his ass in the middle of a bar where the staff knows Abe’s name and Mihashi’s making a claim on it.

“Dude, _breathe_ ,” Buttons calls from the liquor bottle display hanging from the ceiling. Abe is pretty sure he’d die, first.

“I’ve wanted to do that… for a long time,” Mihashi whispers, leaning in just enough as his eyelids drift half-shut so that his nose can brush along the line of Abe’s jaw. There’s no way he doesn’t hear the pathetic noise Abe feels claw out of his throat at the touch or the admission, he’s not sure. His right hand grasps tightly around the bottle getting warm, ignored where they’re leaning against the bar, and the left reaches up so Abe can snag one finger in Mihashi’s belt loop and pull. Mihashi’s hips come forward easily, and Abe gets a mental image of when he opens the oven and heat washes all over him in an unavoidable wave. 

“If you don’t kiss him, I’m going to flash my asshole at you again,” Buttons croons. Abe really, _really_ fucking hates cats. He does, however, let his eyes fall shut as he nuzzles Mihashi’s face, letting his lips brush gently against Mihashi’s cheek where it is so close. The blond shudders, swaying even closer into him, and the fingers in Abe’s back pocket tighten ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” Abe says, voice low and maybe unheard in the loudness of the bar. “Ren.”

Mihashi straightens, just enough. He leans forward and captures Mihashi’s lips with his own, doesn’t do anything more than donate just a bit of the fire burning beneath his skin and take a bit of Mihashi’s back in, but when he pulls back and manages to get his eyes opened, Mihashi looks _wrecked_. He licks his lips, leans in, rubs his body against Abe’s and all but begs, “Home?”

Fucking hell he might not even make it that far, Abe thinks, dizzy and hot and abandoning the bottle of beer in his right hand to snatch out at Mihashi’s nape. He hauls the blond closer, slants his mouth right and gets the kind of kiss in that he’d always wanted to plant on him, something deep and slow and fucking filthy, too fucking pornographic for how public they were and all-too-telling of just how much he really wanted this. (Why couldn’t Abe’s spontaneous superpower have been, like, _transportation_ or something like that and not talking to fucking asshole cats, Christ.)

“Have fun, kids,” Buttons calls to them as Abe gets all but manhandled by Mihashi out of the bar. Abe really, really, _really_ fucking _hates_ cats.

\----------

The next twenty four hours are a bit of a whirlwind for Abe, though interestingly enough, he is not alone. In the next twenty four hours:

\-- Abe does manage to get across town to his apartment with Mihashi in tow, where he proceeds to have three (3) orgasms, the last of which is strong enough to actually have him _black out_  
\-- Abe wakes up from said orgasm and returns the favor, confident that he’s going to get at least three noise complaints from his neighbors but hedging a bet on the fact that hopefully that won’t matter for long  
\-- Mihashi gives him the kind of morning after that he dreams of, featuring a full-course breakfast, amazing coffee, one (1) blowjob at his breakfast table, and a promise to see him at work as soon as he runs by his apartment to grab Shuuto and make sure she hasn’t gone off the deep end for being alone for so long  
\-- his neighbor’s cat does not have anything nasty to say to him, nor does the Miyagi’s cat, nor does the cat by the vending machine, nor does the cat on the corner, and nor does Shuuto - in fact, the only thing he gets is a plaintive meow and maybe a sulky stare  
\-- Abe is forced to consider that Mihashi’s dick may have actually given him the same brain-concussing power as falling and hitting his head on the spice rack and taking a crystal glass cinnamon bottle to the nose, which is both delightful for future sexual encounters and something he will never, ever admit to (not withstanding drunken bro-dates with Izumi, which promise little to no personal filter post seventh beer, apparently)  
\-- the professional ice hockey players return to the restaurant and compliment both the amazing soup and the perfect cake they’d had and ask Momoe if The Pitch will cater their wedding (after, of course, everyone signs an NDA and promises that they will preach that the picture of the two players hung in the lobby is Definitely Platonic and there is No Butt Grabbing behind Anyone’s Back) (there totally was)  
\-- Tajima and Hanai are finally caught having sex in the pantry, which is absolutely a health code violation, but Izumi and Nishihiro share their post-cleanup procedures which is gross, ew, and Abe decides he will never, ever eat at The Pitch  
\-- Mihashi tells them that The Pitch is going to cater _their_ wedding, and Abe says okay  
\--  Shinooka and Mizutani might actually be going on a date when she gets back on Tuesday, but no one can be sure since the information came from Sakaeguchi, and, Well.

But most importantly, Abe takes Mihashi by the hand and pulls him towards the chrome of the refrigerator door, their fingers locked together and hope burning brightly in his chest. He’s ready.

 

 


End file.
